We don’t, obviously. We have hardly any time at all, really.
But now he’s suggested we might have more.
“Sure,” I say lightly, as if he’s asked me to think about what I want for lunch. “I’ll think about it.”
And that’s a promise.
13
PRESENT
I’m still sitting at my desk, staring at the blank screen I’m using to write down my story ideas for Vivienne — or not write them down, as the case may be — thirty minutes later, when the office door opens, and Elliot appears, walking right in without even asking.
Great.
“I brought you a coffee,” he says, placing a steaming takeaway mug in front of me. “I figured you could probably use one. Your friend Levi made it for me. No cinnamon, though; I remember how much you hate it.”
At least he rememberssomething, then.
I bite back the words on the tip of my tongue, and pick up the coffee cup, noticing he’s holding one of his own, too. “Your dad said I’d probably find you in here,” he says, looking around the tiny room, which he knew only as a storage cupboard. “He said it’s your office? Are you writing, then? Is that why you need an office now?”
His eyes land on the laptop, and I snap it quickly closed, even though there’s nothing to see.
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s just bookstore stuff. Invoices, you know. Staff rotas. That kind of thing. The store’s been doing much better since … well, you know. There’s a lot more admin to take care of.”
There’s an awkward silence as the memory of our previous conversation about the bookstore doing better — and why — hovers dangerously above our heads before disappearing again.
“Oh. Right. That’s a shame,” Elliot says, taking a sip of his drink and wincing slightly as the sugar hits his taste buds. “Not that the store’s doing well, obviously,” he adds hurriedly. “That’s amazing. Seriously. It’s just … I thought you might be working on that novel you always wanted to write. Or something else, maybe?”
“Nope,” I reply briskly, turning away and pretending to tidy the already-immaculate desk. “I still have the same problem with that. No stories, remember? Nothing to tell. Although, I guess I could just do what you did, and make something up?”
Elliot shuffles his feet awkwardly, and I briefly consider throwing myself face-first into my coffee: I suspect the scalding heat of it would be marginally less painful than the look on his face right now.
Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I just let it go for once?
“Look,” he begins, “About that. I didn’t know it would affect you so much; what I wrote. I didn’t know it would make you a … what was it you called it? A ‘laughingstock’? It didn’t cross my mind that it might embarrass you. I didn’t even think anyone would read it, if I’m honest. I definitely didn’t imagine all of this.”
He pulls at the collar of his shirt as if it’s in danger of strangling him. He’s not sounding nearly as self-confident now that it’s just me and him. It makes me like him more.
“No. No, I don’t suppose you did,” I reply, softening. “It’s… quite something.”
“I suppose that’s one way of describing it.”
He gives a wry chuckle that takes him another step closer to the Elliot I remember.
“That plastic globe thing outside,” he says. “I wasnotexpecting that. And I went by the Rose Tavern, but it’s been re-named, apparently? Now it’s—”
“The Globe,” I confirm, cringing inwardly. “There are a lot of things around here named after snow globes now. I’m amazed they didn’t just rename the town Hollybrooke and be done with it. Nice name, by the way.”
I’m being sarcastic, which is something the old Elliot would’ve known right away. This one, however, just grins, as if it’s a joke we’re both in on.
“I know; it’s cheesy as all get-out. But I have a soft spot for the name Holly, for some reason. I really wanted to use it.”
He smiles again, and it somehow manages to reverse time, and send him spiraling back an entire decade until he’s back to being the aspiring writer in the big scarf, who told me he’d never forget me.
“You didn’t say that earlier, though?” I reply evenly. “When Levi asked you if anyone inspired you to write the book? You just said it was about your great-grandfather. You didn’t mention me at all.”
I try my best not to sound too needy — or just plain whiny — as I say it, but the look of surprise on Elliot’s face suggests I haven’t succeeded.
